


Disapprove of Rain

by SunGreen70



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunGreen70/pseuds/SunGreen70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>15 year old Jeff Davis has some uncomfortable thoughts. Originally posted to LiveJournal in November, 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disapprove of Rain

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNING* This story contains some homophobic language which many may find offensive (*I* am offended when I hear it used). However, it was necessary for the emotional tenor of the story. It certainly does not reflect my personal views in any way. Those of you who know me know that :)
> 
> Finally, I had to mess with the timeline a little. This takes place around early 1989, but I refer to an episode of Whose Line that didn't air until 1992. Also necessary for the story. And now that my intro is nearly as long as the fic...

“He’s a friggin’ homo!”

Jeff jerked his head up, nearly whacking it on the top of his locker. He looked towards the sound of the shout, but Danny McGinnis hadn’t been talking about him. As Jeff watched, Danny grabbed Matt Parks’ gym bag and threw it down the hallway.

“ _You’re_ the goddamn homo, McGinnis!” Matt gave Danny a shove as he ran to retrieve his bag. Several of the other boys around them hooted and joined in the scuffle. Jeff exhaled and turned back to his locker, dropping his math textbook on the bottom with a metallic thud.

Jeff’s heart was pounding as he closed his locker. Dumb to think Danny had been talking about him. Anyway, they were friends. So were Danny and Matt, for that matter, although at the moment they were still tussling and yelling insults at one another. Ordinarily, Jeff would have joined in the fun, but he didn’t feel like it now. Ignoring the other guys, he grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He headed towards the main doors in the opposite direction.

“Yo, Mad Balls!” Danny’s voice shouted after him, followed by the pounding of his sneakers on the linoleum floor. Jeff rolled his eyes. It had been four years since he’d done that commercial. It wasn’t even on TV anymore, but the nickname he’d been given when it first aired had stuck. Reluctantly, he paused to wait for his friend. Danny caught up to him, puffing for breath. “Where you going?”

“Home.” Jeff pushed open the heavy doors and they started down the steps, blinking in the sudden brightness of the schoolyard.

“Aren’t you coming to baseball practice?”

Jeff shook his head. “Can’t. I have an audition.” The lie slipped out, surprising him. In fact, Jeff had had every intention of going to watch practice. He couldn’t be on the team, because he did have too many auditions and filmings to make all the practices, but on his free days he liked to watch. He had nothing scheduled for today, but he suddenly just wanted to go home.

“Oh. Cool.” Danny looked disappointed, but impressed. Jeff knew that most of his friends would have given their eyeteeth to act on TV like he did. It gave him a certain amount of status at school, even though he couldn’t hang out with the guys or take part in activities very often.

“Hey, pretty boy! Nice shirt!”

Jeff looked up. Some guy he didn’t recognize was smirking at him from the chain-link fence, where he and two other guys were huddled over a cigarette they were passing among themselves. Heat rose in Jeff’s cheeks as the guy’s friends hooted appreciatively at his wit. There was no question this time that the words were directed at him. He glanced down self-consciously at his teal silk shirt. No one else wore stuff like this to school, but Jeff liked it. Setting his jaw, he continued walking, but the guy’s next words seemed to make his blood freeze.

“Pretty boy!” the guy shouted again, followed by kissing noises. “What are you, a fag?”

Jeff’s breathing quickened. He stared straight ahead and picked up his pace. Beside him, Danny stopped in his tracks.

“ _He’s_ a fag?” Danny retorted. “You’re the one checking _him _out, queerboy!”__

__Jeff had stopped when Danny did, but he stayed where he was, several feet away. The guy’s friends jeered again, but this time it was directed at their ringleader, not Jeff._ _

__“Yeah, fuck you,” the guy called back to Danny, but his voice was weaker this time._ _

__“Oh, now you want to fuck me?” Danny snickered. “No thanks, fag!” The other two guys fell over themselves, laughing and shoving their now red-faced friend. Danny caught up to Jeff, and they started walking again._ _

__“Asshole,” Danny muttered._ _

__Jeff nodded, not looking at him. His vision was suddenly blurry, and he blinked hard. “I gotta go,” he mumbled, and took off before Danny could say anything else._ _

__

__

******

__

__“Hey, Bill.” Jeff walked into his brother’s room. Bill had just gotten home from work. Not at a TV studio – Bill hadn’t made a commercial since he was thirteen years old. He said he’d quit because he didn’t like doing them anymore, but Jeff remembered how Bill had begun getting turned down by studios more and more often, while Jeff was getting almost more jobs than their mother had time to take him to. Then he and Mom had gone off to New York for _The King And I_ , and when they’d come back home, Bill had stopped going to auditions altogether. Now Bill worked at a motorcycle repair shop. Jeff envied him. He wouldn’t want a job in a motorcycle shop – he didn’t even like motorcycles – but he would have liked not having to go to school. But his parents insisted he finish high school, even though Jeff was still working steadily on TV and making more money than Bill, or their father. He wasn’t allowed to touch the money until he turned eighteen, either, so he was doomed to another two and a half years._ _

__“Hey, bud.” Bill looked up from his dresser, where he was hunting through his sock drawer. “How’s it going?”_ _

__Jeff hesitated. He considered telling Bill about the guy at school, but decided against it. It was stupid to even still be thinking about it._ _

__“Okay.” He flopped down on Bill’s bed and watched him pull out a pair of socks, examine them, and drop them on the floor before resuming his search. Jeff winced. He couldn’t bear to think of putting dirty socks in the drawer with the clean ones. “What’re you doing?”_ _

__“Getting ready to go out.”_ _

__“Where?”_ _

__“Julie’s house.” Bill smiled a private smile. Jeff rolled his eyes. Julie was Bill’s latest girlfriend, and pretty much all he ever talked about lately. The other night, Bill had accidentally left an opened box of rubbers out on the vanity in the bathroom he and Jeff shared when he’d left the house to go out with her. It had made Jeff feel weird to see them. He hadn’t said anything to Bill about them, and the next morning they were gone._ _

__Bill disappeared into the bathroom for a shower, and Jeff rolled over onto his stomach. There was a stack of magazines next to the bed. Jeff idly picked up the _Sports Illustrated_ that was lying on top and started to thumb through it, when he noticed the next one on the pile. _Penthouse_. Jeff glanced quickly at the closed bathroom door and reached for it._ _

__He opened it up to the middle and regarded the naked woman who sprawled across two pages, her legs spread apart and her hands splayed between them. Briefly, Jeff glanced at the place where her fingers with their dark red-painted nails slid into the pink folds of flesh, holding them open. He flinched and averted his eyes. What was so great looking about that? It was really pretty gross. His gaze traveled up, over her boobs. He was able to look at those without getting creeped out. Still, he remembered when Bill had taken him to see _Fatal Attraction_ , which Jeff wasn’t supposed to see. There had been a couple of scenes where Glenn Close was naked. He recalled that Bill had shifted slightly in his seat beside Jeff, his hands gripping the arm rests. Jeff had glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but Bill’s gaze was glued to the screen. Jeff had turned his attention back to the movie, where Glenn Close’s boobs were still in plain view. It hadn’t made him feel anything special. Maybe because he didn’t think Glenn Close was especially pretty._ _

__Jeff looked back at the woman in the centerfold. He didn’t think she was pretty, either. Her expression was kind of creepy. Her lips, also painted bright red, were parted slightly, and looked wet. You could see the tip of her tongue. Jeff wrinkled his nose._ _

__“Hey, Jeff did you – whoa!” Bill quickly shut the door. “Jeez, don’t let Mom see you with that. She’ll kill me.”_ _

__Red-faced, Jeff closed the magazine and dropped it back on the pile. He looked guiltily at his brother, but Bill didn’t seem to care that he’d been looking at it. He was busy untangling the cord of his hair dryer from the pile of dirty clothes on the floor next to the dresser. Unlike Jeff, Bill wouldn’t spend more than five minutes on his hair. He’d run a comb through it a few times while aiming the dryer at it, and be done._ _

__Leaving Bill to get ready for his date, Jeff got up off the bed. With his foot, he shoved the stack of magazines out of sight under the nightstand. Then he left to go do his science homework._ _

__

__

******

“Hey, Chip.” Jeff raised the lid of his guinea pig’s cage and lifted the little animal into his arms. Chip snuffled at him, making tiny squeaking noises. Jeff grinned and cuddled him close for a moment, stroking the silky brown and white fur before returning him to the cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pieces of carrot he’d brought with him, spreading them out on the cedar shavings. Chip settled happily down to gnaw on them, and Jeff glanced at the clock. Almost 10. He shut his bedroom door and turned on the TV.

 _Whose Line Is It Anyway?_ was just coming on. Jeff watched it every week on Comedy Central. Improv fascinated him. He admired how quickly the players could think on their feet, acting without a script and responding to new cues every few seconds. Sometimes they even had to make up songs on the spot, which Jeff really liked. A couple of times, when he was home alone, he’d tried doing it himself – making up songs about stuff like a sandwich he was eating or his maroon cashmere sweater. They were dumb, but they were kind of funny, and he could come up with them pretty easily. He was thinking about asking his parents if he could take improv classes at The Groundlings, where he’d done some shows. They would probably let him. They usually agreed to anything that could help him get more acting jobs.

Jeff flopped on his stomach on the bed with his chin cupped in his hands. He watched closely as the opening credits finished. As the camera panned over the four players in their chairs, he squinted, but he couldn’t make out who was there before Clive Anderson came into view. He drummed his feet impatiently against the headboard as Clive introduced Josie Lawrence, Ryan Stiles, Paul Merton – and then Greg Proops. A grin spread across Jeff’s face. Greg was the best one on the show. Jeff shifted into a more comfortable position and settled down to watch.

Paul and Josie were called down for the first game, but Jeff’s eyes kept wandering to the back of the stage where Greg sat watching, his ankle crossed casually over his knee. He was wearing a weird looking black and white jacket, but it was cool, too, Jeff thought. Underneath it he had on his Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. It was the second time Jeff had seen him wear that shirt. It made him curious about the band. He would ask Bill about them. Bill knew a lot of bands. Maybe he even had some of their tapes. Jeff resolved to check the shelves under Bill’s stereo.

When Greg joined in the scene, Jeff sat up eagerly. He laughed out loud at Greg’s first line. He was so funny - he cracked Jeff up just about every time he spoke. Eyes still glued to Greg, Jeff tuned out the scene they were playing and imagined himself taking improv classes, and getting so good at it that he’d get to go on _Whose Line_ and work with Greg. Ryan too, and Tony Slattery… all of them. Mostly he’d like working with Greg, though. Jeff’s eyes followed Greg as they finished the scene and returned to their seats. They stayed on him as the next game began and Josie came back on stage.

When the show ended, Jeff turned off the TV and stood in the middle of the room for a minute, gazing out the window without really seeing anything outside. Then he went to his desk and opened the middle drawer. He took out the British magazine he’d found at Barnes & Noble a couple weeks ago, with an article about _Whose Line_. On the last page there was a small blurb about Greg, who had done a stand-up gig at The Comedy Store in London, along with a picture of him. It fell open right to the page about Greg. Jeff glanced briefly at the lines of text. The shows were over now. He wished he could have gone. His gaze moved to the photo, a close-up of Greg looking solemnly at the camera, wearing a suit and a patterned tie. Jeff idly fingered the collar of his pajama top as he studied the picture. He didn’t wear ties that often, but he liked how they looked on Greg.

Mostly, though, Jeff liked the expression on Greg’s face. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a look in his eyes behind his giant glasses that told Jeff he was about to laugh. Jeff wondered what he was thinking about.

Jeff closed the magazine and got into bed. After he turned out the light, his hand automatically slid beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Closing his eyes, he squeezed and stroked, falling into the rhythm he’d perfected.

His thoughts drifted languidly at first as he lay there enjoying the sensations. After a moment though, a clear picture came into his head. It was Greg, with that same expression on his face that he had in the magazine picture. Not quite smiling, but looking knowingly at Jeff, as if he knew something Jeff didn’t. Jeff felt himself twitch as the image of Greg came more clearly into focus. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and increased the pressure. He pretended it was Greg’s hand on him instead of his own. A low whimpering sound escaped him, and he squeezed even harder, feeling himself stiffen in response. He tugged harder and faster, seeing Greg’s face, imagining Greg’s body on top of his, until he exploded with greater intensity than he’d ever felt before. For several minutes the waves of arousal continued to ebb and roll as Jeff’s trembling hands gripped the sheets. When they finally subsided he lay motionless on his back, staring at the ceiling.

After a long moment, Jeff turned onto his side. His heart was racing... more so than it usually did after _that_. He gazed out the window. It had begun to rain, and the drops made slow trails down the glass like tears.

Why had he been thinking about...?

Jeff rolled over again, cutting off the thought before he could finish it. It hadn’t meant anything. It was only because he’d just been watching Greg on _Whose Line_ , and looking at that photo of him in the magazine. Greg had just been on his mind, and his thoughts had gotten mixed up. That was all.

It didn’t mean he was a _fag_.


End file.
